Beyond the Break
by Jessahme Wren
Summary: Oneshot.  When Chloe faces a crisis, Jack reaches out to her.


Part of the Summer Fic Challenge at 24nmore dot com.

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It was August, the twilight of summer, and yet the wind was chill as it glanced across the Pacific. Sporadic gusts roused the sand in weakened dust devils only to deposit it, scattered and displaced along the empty beach.

She studied the waves from her place on the sand. Not really watched…a mere passive observation, her eyes fixed on the retreating horizon. Just off the shore, beyond the break, a red and white buoy bobbed gently, stirred by the rise and fall of the swelling sea. She watched as it teetered in the dark water.

Chloe hugged her knees, warming her hands beneath them. Her hair, tousled and thick with sea spray, tangled about her face and neck. She sat in the shadow of an abandoned life guard station, in a patch of sun spared by the dark fingers that stretched over and around her, halfway to the water.

It was the tower that Jack saw first, its bone white skeleton bleached by the sun of a dozen summers. And then her, sitting small beneath it. He called to her as he trudged through the sand, but his voice was quickly lost, muted by the rising wind.

He came to a stop beside the chipped white paint of the tower, just over her left shoulder, and took a moment to breathe in the heady air.

"Chloe."

She didn't look at him at first, maybe wishing him away, but when she finally did he could see she'd been crying. Her eyes were red rimmed, and, where salt met salt, the briny wind had chapped her face.

"What are you doing here Jack?" Her blank voice was hollow.

He crossed behind, settled on the sand to the left of her, easing stiffly into the powdery quartz. He looked at her profile. "I'm here to find you," he said simply.

She pursed her mouth, then let it relax. "I'm not lost."

Jack chuffed lightly, drawing up a knee to rest a forearm there. His navy blue chinos were already powdered with sand and little flecks of ocean fodder. "Could've fooled me," he said seriously. "It's been over a week since anyone's heard from you Chloe."

She glanced at him furtively. "I had vacation days," she said simply.

Jack nodded. He did a casual survey of the empty beach, the overcast weather, the craggy inlets and dismal swirling pools. "Don't know what you were going for Chloe, but if I were you I'd fire my travel agent."

His warm, lopsided grin did nothing to soften the tough exterior that was always such a challenge to breech. She looked at him. "Why don't you just go home Jack?"

But the pain in her voice told him he couldn't. He edged a little closer to her. "I'm not going anywhere Chloe." He was shoulder to shoulder with her now. "Not until you tell me what's going on."

She shook her head, first in adamant refusal, then something akin to defeat. Her eyes welled with tears.

"Prescott's sick."

Jack's stomach quickened. "How sick?"

Chloe studied her hands, worrying her upper lip.

"Chloe, look at me."

She didn't refuse him, could never refuse him. When she finally looked at him he could see the dark circles under her eyes.

"Cancer."

_God. _Jack swallowed, working to keep the emotion out of his face. "Where is he now?" he asked quietly.

The tears she'd held in check began to fall with the first syllable. "At the clinic with Morris," she said into her hands. Chloe sounded so tired her voice nearly buckled midsentence.

And Jack felt helpless as he looked at her. Chloe had always been there—the one to navigate the perils of his job; to stand in the gap between him and death.

"What can I do," he asked.

She studied the waves, watched as they beat themselves against the shore, relentless and repetitive. "Nothing."

Jack couldn't accept that.

He looked away and around them, his eyes coming to rest on some empty shells. He examined them passively as if the answer lay there in the beach litter. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She frowned. "I didn't know what to do," she said quietly. "I still don't." Her eyes never left her lap.

"He's gonna be ok Chloe."

She nodded, nearly imperceptible. "Yeah."

"Hey," he said softly. Jack touched her arm, pulling her from her reverie. "He's going to be _fine_. You have to believe that."

She looked at him, a soft smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I know," she said. "Prescott is strong."

"And so are you," Jack said. He looked at her seriously. "You're one of the strongest people I know, Chloe. You can do this."

She closed her eyes. Absently she rubbed her bare arms against the evening chill. Jack took off his lightweight jacket, wrapped it around her shoulders. He could feel her soften into it, against his arm still around her, and he drew her close.

Sometimes there just weren't enough words.

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End file.
